The Final Anchor
by Magi Silverwolf
Summary: Harry comforts his friend after the events in Georgia. Then Spencer does some comforting of his own. Maybe they'll get this figured out eventually. (TQC)


**Disclaimer:** I do not own the original canon nor am I making any profit from writing this piece. All works are accredited to their original authors, performers, and producers while this piece is mine. No copyright infringement is intended. I acknowledge that all views and opinions expressed herein are merely my interpretations of the characters and situations found within the original canon and may not reflect the views and opinions of the original author(s), producer(s), and/or other people.

 **Warnings:** This story may contain material that is not suitable for all audiences and may offend some readers. This story takes place in the direct wake of Spencer Reid's captivity by Tobias Hankel. Please take personal sensitivities into consideration before and while reading.

 **Summary (** _ **The Final Anchor**_ **):** Harry comforts his friend after the events in Georgia. Then Spencer does some comforting of his own. Maybe they'll get this figured out eventually.

 **Song Recommendation(s):** "False Alarms" by Josh Groban

 **Author's Note:** This story takes place after both _Through the Storm_ and _The Universe Inside_. While care has been taken so that this piece can be read on its own, reading those first will increase understanding of the characterizations used here. Also, there are blurry lines on the professionalism of _shipping_ colleagues and subordinates versus the _shipping_ of friends and quasi-family. Give Gideon and Salwa the benefit of the doubt?

 **Author's Note (02):** This piece was written for a challenge in the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry (Challenges & Assignments) on the FFN forum.  
 **The Challenge Information** :  
 **House** : Gryffindor  
 **Club/Event:** Fun with Fishing (August)  
 **Lure/Bait:** Criminal Minds Crossover  
 **Prompt[s]** : Job (Librarian)  
 **Word Count** : 3161

-= LP =-

The Final Anchor

-= LP =-

 _But I can't cage you in my arms  
When my heart is jumping forward  
To avoid your false alarms  
And you can't tell me not to stay  
When I opened up your window  
And I watched you fly away_  
– Josh Groban, "False Alarms"

-= LP =-

Harry couldn't stop the grin that grew on his face when he came around the corner to see his favorite TA standing awkwardly at the help desk. Then the man turned and all cheer at seeing him disappeared faster than a startled house elf. There was no question in his mind that whatever case had pulled the other man away had been _bad_. The lingering traces of Death's magic that lingered about Spencer just made that even more distinct to Harry.

That happened occasionally—in Spencer's line of work, death energy was par for the course and it had a way of being clingy—but this wasn't just being around the dead, not this much or this deeply intertwined with the man's own energy. Harry felt his stomach drop as his heart began to race. Regardless of his current status, Spencer had clearly _died_ recently. Harry had to fight the urge to check for injuries in a highly unprofessional manner, not that he thought Salwa would reprimand him more than verbally for shocking the students. She had been quietly (and occasionally, not so quietly) pushing the two together since his interview for her department. Publicly groping Spencer would probably make her day and she would spend the next month crowing about successfully matching up her favorite genii. It would make Spencer even more uncomfortable than he already was just being here, though, and Harry didn't want to discourage that willingness to come to him. So he took a deep breath and marched into battle.

"Normally, I'm against using alcohol as a potential aid," Harry remarked as he approached, "but you look as if you could use something stronger than tea. On the other hand—maybe we should skip the stuff that commonly have meetings somewhere." He waved away whatever Spencer had opened his mouth to say. "It doesn't matter how I know that you're in need of a decent cuppa and some—hmm, Handel, I think—" The flinch was minute but enough to make Harry shift his plans. "—or perhaps this new composer I've discovered if you're up for experimenting. It just matters that I know. Come on, Spencer. My office awaits and the board's already set up."

"I never understood how you know these things," Spencer complained as he obediently followed Harry to the crowded office that Salwa had finally managed to clear out for him after a year of being stuck out at a desk in the reference section. Harry didn't let the comment get to him too much. Spencer was prone to analysis when he was nervous about something. It was his way of taking control of a given situation, and recently had been an effective weapon "I work with some people who literally make their living reading people, and they don't notice things nearly as quickly as you do."

"Who knows? Maybe I'm the Doctor pretending to be human," Harry quipped as he started the percolator in his office to heating water. "I am British, after all. So I'm either the Doctor or 007—or you know, a villainous mastermind bent on world domination."

"You could be Sherlock Holmes," Spencer offered. He was already settling into one of the chairs beside the little table which held Harry's wooden chess set, making that incredible flexible twisty movement he always used to remove his messenger bag. "You certainly have the observational skills and reasoning capability."

"I would imagine genius consulting detective would be more in line with your career choice." Harry set up the mugs with properly filled teaballs. He hesitated over the ethics involved with choosing the herbal mixture he had designed to mimic the effects of a mild calming draught. Spencer looked like he could use the peace as much as the conversation, but Harry could also tell that he had been given something strong during whatever had _killed him_ (and maybe focusing on that little fact wasn't the best idea). Interactions weren't his main concern so much as stealing that kind of control from Spencer when it had already been stolen so recently. "Handel or my modern discovery?"

"You pick," Spencer answered, and his tone was off enough that Harry looked at him sharply. His face was twisted into a truly painful looking expression somewhere between terrified and relieved. It was close to the one Harry had seen on his own face that had been the final straw that sent him running away from the wizarding world into the anonymity of the muggle world and the obscurity that was the academic library system. He never lost his driving need to _save people_ , though, and didn't need to think before crossing the three feet to crouch before the other man. Spencer watched him with wide eyes. He swallowed visibly before speaking. "I trust you, Harry."

"That's fine," Harry muttered, still in his crouch and watching Spencer's face. His hand gripped the table's edge to keep from reaching out but when Spencer's wringing hands made a soft creaking noise from the tension, Harry couldn't stop his other hand from settling lightly upon them. Spencer started at the touch but relaxed when it became clear that Harry was making no move to add even a hint of restraint to it. The coffeepot gurgled as it emptied the reservoir. Harry rolled to standing and moved to start the tea brewing, talking all the while. "McClure, it is then. Give that mind of yours something to focus on other than whatever hell you've just been to the edge of. Did your team manage to feed you before you escaped them? Or should I order takeaway?"

"Um, Garcia made cookies?"

Harry hummed disapprovingly as he dunked the teaballs a few times to coax a little extra flavoridins from the instant potion to counter the honey he was already planning to add. Spencer drank his coffee even sweeter than the already sickly-sweet that was his standard when he was stressed. Judging by the bags under his eyes and the clinging tendrils of Death's touch in his aura, Spencer definitely qualified as _stressed_.

It was nice to take care of someone, even if a fire burned in Harry's gut that Spencer's team had let him give them the slip when he was like this, still skittish and trembling from whatever had happened. While Harry was fairly certain that most of the team had no clue that Spencer had any friends outside of them, Gideon had to know, given the amount of time they had worked alongside each other (and that damnable background check he had the formidable Garcia pull shortly after Spencer started coming around for tea and _Doctor Who_ ). This—whatever _this_ happened to be—was the kind of thing you gave a body warning about. As it was, Harry was flying blind into what could be an emotional shitstorm and he did not appreciate it one whit.

"How does curry sound? Something with an incredibly complex palate?" Harry asked as he stirred in the honey until it was dissolved. Spencer needed protein to aid cytogenesis. "And maybe a spinach saag?" He turned with both mugs in his hands and noticed for the first time which side of the chessboard Spencer had claimed. Harry gave a weak smile. Of course, his friend would want to play the offensive after a bad case. Spencer usually played black when he played Harry (as Gideon had a definite preference for the color in _their_ games), but Harry could empathize with not wanting even that hint of being hunted while coming off a bad case. "I heard a rumor earlier that they've got in a fresh batch of fish for tandoori earlier—"

Spencer's reaction was as sudden as it had been unexpected. Unlike the twitch the man had given earlier when Harry had mentioned Handel, this time Spencer's whole body jerked _away from him_. Harry rushed over to set the mugs on table beside the board before focusing completely on his friend. Noting the unfocused eyes, Harry decided to push their unspoken boundaries a bit—being uncomfortable had to be better than trapped in whatever memory now held him.

Harry pressed a hand to either cheek while using his thumbs to stroke Spencer's cheekbones. All the while, he kept speaking on whatever came to his mind, lacing his voice with just enough magic to drag at someone's senses but more than enough for someone with Spencer's observational skills. When he ran out of conscious direction, he fell back on what had gotten him through some long days in his cupboard: reciting various books he had managed to sneak-read in stolen moment.

"…'Speak, Count, 'tis your cue," Harry was saying when Spencer dragged in a deep breath.

"Silence is the perfectest herald of joy," Spencer replied, his voice rough and thick. His eyes still stared into the memory but Spencer was finally starting to react to him again. Harry could have wept from the relief he felt. "I were but little happy if I could say how much." Harry let his fingers curl into a tighter hold briefly, and then allowed the curl to linger when Spencer's response was to lean into the touch rather than jerk away. Harry stroked the curve of Spencer's mastoid bone with his middle fingers as Spencer's eyes slid closed. "Lady, as you are mine, I am yours. I give away myself for you and dote upon the exchange."

"Are you up for that tea now?" Harry whispered, still petting the overqualified TA _cum_ FBI agent. "You could probably use it."

At Spencer's nod, Harry hesitated just a moment before pulling away to collect the mug of cooled tea. He froze at the clearly-involuntary whine Spencer made as soon as Harry stopped touching his skin. Harry replaced his left hand on his friend's cheek, his eyes focused on Spencer's face as his other hand reached blindly for the mug. Spencer's hands were shaking so much that Harry kept a steadying hand on it as he drank.

The part inside him that had caused so many of his problems over the years fizzed with the protective satisfaction coursing through him as Spencer accepted _his_ help. He would never wish for the man who had become his best friend this side of the Atlantic to be hurt, but it soothed Harry's omnipresent worry that Spencer had come to him when he was. This was a problem he could solve, one that didn't involve chasing dark wizards or harassing the innocent because of laws he had sworn to uphold. Helping students with their homework didn't hold nearly the same appeal even if it left him plenty of time to catch up on his reading. Being here, with Spencer, was even better than hanging out as Ron and Hermione's perpetual third wheel had been back in Britain.

Cup empty, Harry helped Spencer set it back on the table as he debated the risks and benefits of what he wanted to do. Then he shifted his left hand to brace his pinkie along Spencer's jaw and curve the pads of his fingers into the grove between the jaw hinge and the mastoid curve. Using the grip, he gave a gentle tug on the other man, nothing which Spencer couldn't have ignored completely. Spencer came out of his chair with same flowing grace as water flowing down a rocky hillside, all knees and elbows and gangly limbs. Harry settled him easily enough, holding him across his lap so that Spencer's head rested on his shoulder while still letting Harry's hand rest partially on his neck and partially on his face.

"You always know what to do," Spencer said after they spent a long time just sitting on the floor of Harry's office. He sounded so much younger than his twenty-five years in that moment. The year in age between them felt like a powerful shield. "You know how to distract me and when—Not even Gideon knows how to do that and he's been my faculty advisor for years." Harry didn't reply because what could he say that wouldn't sound like a condemnation of Gideon or narcissistic bragging? Spencer didn't seem to need an answer anyway. "I work with some of the best profilers in the field and they didn't even question when I said I was fine. Yet you knew the moment you saw me…and you still haven't asked for details."

"I figure you'll tell me when you're ready to talk about it, and meanwhile there's things that are more important than the details and specifics." Harry paused to use the hand against Spencer's cheek to card through Spencer's floppy hair, preemptively soothing him against his next question and subtly assessing for tender spots indicative of blows to the head. "I should probably know what I said to set off the flashback, though—if only to avoid doing so in the future." Feeling Spencer tense and begin to pull away, Harry shushed him before continuing to run his hand through Spencer's hair, carefully avoiding the few bumps he had found. "Just the trigger, Spencer. I don't need the full story until you're ready. Just the trigger."

"F-fish," Spencer forced out. He buried his face into Harry's neck. It was only the proximity to his ear that let Harry hear the next phrase. "He burned fish—as a protection."

Harry couldn't help the spasm of his arms which pulled Spencer tighter against him. Auror training had been brutal and unpleasant but his first year at Cambridge had been worse in terms of getting to know the dark side of humanity. Fish liver was the standard offering given to drive away demons and _witches_. The idea that Spencer, _brilliant_ Spencer with his _eidetic memory_ , had an encounter with someone thinking they were a witch-hunter made Harry long for the days when he could blame the homicidal rage pounding through him on a specific egomaniac.

"Right, so that's a 'no' on the tandoori," Harry replied as evenly as possible. At least growing up with the Dursleys was good for _something_. "Chicken tikka should be easiest to eat. Unless you're in one of your tofu moods?"

"Every time I see you, you insist on feeding me," Spencer observed. _Please, Spencer, don't do this now_. "Even more so when either of us are stressed. It's not just food either. Your collection of tea is impressive even considering your birth country."

"Food is usually the first thing you forget when you get wrapped in a case or spot of research." Harry gave a lopsided shrug to avoid disturbing Spencer. "You've also been hurt. I've been told that food is kind of important to keeping one's energy up and recovering from injuries."

"Harry," Spencer whispered, his fingers clutching Harry's shirt, "why do you always phrase it like that?"

"Chicken or tofu?" Harry tried to deflect. Of course Spencer wasn't going to let it go. Harry had known the discussion couldn't be put off forever. Spencer was too observant. He noticed the things that other people didn't or elected to ignore if they did. More importantly, Spencer knew _him_ , could read _him_ as easily as he could one of the books he devoured just as quickly as Harry did. Spencer knew so much despite never having talked about things—he really was Harry's best friend, maybe not even just on this side of the Pond. And Harry had almost lost him. His voice sounded far away as he continued. "The sooner we order, the sooner it will be here."

"Harry," Spencer demanded, making Harry's hold tighten around him reflexively. He should loosen the muscles—Spencer didn't need to feel caged, not at all—but he couldn't, couldn't risk Spencer leaving, not when he was already hurt, not when Harry could have lost him and maybe wouldn't have even been told directly about it—because only Gideon knew Spencer had a friend outside of the BAU, which is why no one had texted or called or emailed him about Spencer _dying_ on a case. This wasn't Ginny running away to be with Dean and Seamus—no, _this_ was like finding George cold after having left him healthy just the night before and Harry couldn't let go of Spencer, despite knowing he had to be uncomfortable with the hold. He was only dimly aware of Spencer running his hands over his chest and shoulders. "Harry, it's alright. I'm not going anywhere."

"You _died_ ," Harry said, half explanation and half accusation. He buried his face in Spencer's hair. "I don't know _how_ and you're here now so it clearly didn't take, but it still _happened_ and no one thought about letting me know. Gideon had Garcia do that stupid investigation—I've heard your stories. There's no way she wouldn't have _asked_ why he wanted it done, which means there were at least two people who knew and no one called to say that you—" Harry bit off his words, distantly aware it was devolving into a rant, and that was not fair to Spencer who needed food and tea, not ranting friends, no matter how close they were. "You need to eat. Cookies don't count, no matter how tasty. You need food and—and tea. Tea cures all manner of ills."

"Yes," Spencer agreed, and Harry didn't know what exactly he was agreeing with but it didn't matter because Spencer wasn't finished. "I died. It was unpleasant—and the team had to watch it happen, which I am really glad you were spared. I don't know how you even know about Gideon's little background check, but I'm not surprised that you do. No, I haven't read the dossier he created from it. It was rude to both of us that he did it in the first place. Work-related situations aside, I am quite capable of taking care of myself. Finally, I'm sure that Garcia would disagree about the cookies counting, but I will take tofu—and more tea, of course, since it cures so much."

"I love you," Harry confessed quietly, unable to stop himself. Spencer relaxed against his chest, making Harry relax as well.

"Good, because otherwise this would an even more awkward situation than it is already. And Harry? JJ would have contacted you if something had happened. She knew about how I felt before I had it figured out."

"Really?"

"Yeah…Gideon tried to set us up over a year ago. It didn't work out, obviously. Apparently, I was already in love with someone else."

There was still so much they needed to discuss, so many secrets which needed to be shared from both of them, but it was enough for Harry to release Spencer long enough to order their meal and start his computer playing the instrumental music he had promised. As they sipped freshly brewed jasmine tea, they kept their off-hands tangled together, both unwilling to let go of the only thing anchoring them to that moment.

Everything else could wait.


End file.
